Utopia o' Morty
by 0sinihilkka0
Summary: It is not often, that one gets themselves silly with freedom. It's intoxicating." I'm not as possessive yet with you as I was with K, so maybe there still is hope- the exits are down the hall, and out the first window you see," the last part he says, while imitating a very nasal voiced stuart. There must be hope yet.
1. Welcome

A silence lands on my audience as the band stops playing. "Welcome to our kingdom," I proclaim to a group of excited tourist Ricks, and point at a large oil painting on the wall. "Let's give a hand to this utopias founding father," I say and take the lead with clapping. The crowd follows my actions obediently. They feed my master's ego, for a cheap holiday. They see the great gain, thus they're leeches in my eyes. Alas, the master admits that a pitfall of being just vain enough like him, is in boasting like this.  
The alternative would mean we wouldn't ever hear of the outside world, here in this gold gilded cage. Thus it is not a wonder that even still after leading the planets only hotel establishment for five years, being the middleman on such a powermove, raises my hairs. I was raised to be humble and wary of having this implied power.  
I proceeded to walk them to the lobby of the hotel and help my brother's at the counter, give our guests their rooms. A mix-up on our registration system is slowing us down, and as compensation I call for discount coupons to be handed out by our lobby boy. Most Ricks haven't noticed a thing and obliviously move around, creating chains of collisions. Lobby Boy drops one, and while picking it up, he bumps into a client. The gold toothed roid-monster kicks that boy so bad the younger lobby boy is called in for replacement. Clients around this more naive brother become docile, donning the flustered boy with appreciative smiles. Booze and innocent Mortys make all Ricks happy. It's always the fastest solutions to all our customer service related issues. The young boy gives some Rick's the 'I'll give you one f-for tomorrow too, but don't tell my ma-manager,' move, giving the Rick's the feeling they successfully manipulated him to their bettering. Really this is a tactic we are taught in pre-training. The way to seduce a Rick is to make him feel like he is the master of the universe. This Morty knows his stuff, he's a smart boy, top of his class.

It is later in the evening, and I sneak a break in a back alley from the hotel kitchens.  
I turn a corner to hide from view of my working brothers. A narrow alley with a single garbageshoot, not a single window towards this hidden side of the building. I pull out a cigarette, and use my nearly empty lighter. I look at the simple tiles under my feet. They've been swept free of all dirt by some lower ranked Morty. I feel bad for letting the ashes fall on his meticulous work. I bend down, and use my handkerchief to wipe it clean. Have to remember to ask someone to get it washed. I need this invaluable tool to keep cleanliness up. Every fingerprint I spot will be wiped.  
I walk over to the garbageshoot, and dust my ashes down it, by lifting the lid just a tad. I stuff the dirty piece of cloth in my back pocket, and try to relax and enjoy my break.  
A moment of blissful silence, of just me and my empty queue of thoughts.  
Nothing ever lasts, and as I stand hidden by the pipe, I stump out my fire, and crouch. I stole the cigarettes from a Rick whose heart failed. As he had laid there beneath me gradually colder, I decided it was a bonus well deserved. But it is not a bonus worth getting punished for, so my lips are sealed as I try not to hear what they're saying.

A Rick who I recognise as our final year teacher of etiquette, says:" You see child: the bad is an opportune way to grow your understanding of good." My instincts ring alarms , but he can't be in on a conspiracy like that drunk Rick tourist once speculated, as he says it with such deep conviction. Perhaps me and my brother are both fools.  
I yearn want to believe this lie. Black and white is easy to tell apart.  
The boy he was talking to sobs out a muddled response. The door is opened and just before it is shut I hear teacher Rick tell the boy: "Some Rick's just show affection that way."

I stand in the dark long after they're gone. My breath is getting frostier. I can think of a good enough reason for my absence. I'll say I had a headache, and took a quick nap. Our policy forbids being anything less than perfect in front of clients. My secretary Morty can handle that tiny spring cleaning he had enthused of for weeks. He's real eager to please. I was to help with the the computers. It's ok. No matter how high my rank, I will never be important enough to be sorely missed.


	2. Eggs to perfection

I wake on my spacey futon, to the gentle tickling of morning rays. I get up in just my boxers, and wrapping myself into a blankety burrito I walk to look into the courtyard. One of the oddly shaped rooms walls is all window. Our master likes to have a clear view of his favourites. We live at Master's mansion. In this evenly eight cornered medium palace, in the very middle, surrounded by his most valuable property, is master's see through house. Alone I, master's precious pet and four concubines share the privilege of living inside the modesty wall, that separates the lower ranks from pestering master with their awe filled gazes. Lets him enjoy his concubines in peace.

The best view from my window is into my master's glass house, where I can make out his shape folded in maroon silk sheets. I'm surprised he doesn't have company. I look up and his pet is knitting in his (much smaller) room on the second floor of this glass palace. We have both gotten up early. The pet's room is only accessible through a spiral staircase in master's house and it is considered holy. Only the Master can access this temple. There he is, just sitting in his yellow shirt on a luxurious divan by the window. An ordinary Morty, our master's original. He's still wearing his cumulus cloud-patterned pyjama bottoms. His head tilts towards me and quickly I subvert my gaze, and pretend to have a little innocent morning stretch.

"I'm up too bloody early", I think as I glance at the clock above my bed. Breakfast at the community hall is served two hours from now. I bet the chef's aren't even awake. Not bothered to pester them awake to whip up something fast, when Master wants me by his side at the table in two hours. The I'd have to eat again. Better go hungry and have a loooong shower.

I pick out the work uniform from my chestnut cupboard, and exit through the back door. It wouldn't be right to disturb my sleeping brethren by prancing through the courtyard like a ponce, even if it is the nicer route to the communal showers.

I'm in jagged hallway that goes around the building along the modesty wall. On my left it disappears behind a 45 degree angle. The hallway is lined with numbered doors. The days of living on this side of the wall are past me. I worked like a slave to overpower my competition, and I was rewarded, when the previous hotel manager died in a mysterious shootout involving five Rick's and four Mortys.

The last door to have a number on the hallway is 4E. I was the Hotel manager's apprentice and lived there for two long years. Before that it was at the college campus, where they mold us according to Master's curriculum. Before that… Well it's all a bit fuzzy. I think my Rick blew up when I was still young. All I remember is how kind the talent scouts were.

I shake my head back to reality. Better not make myself feel any older.


	3. Vegan bacon

It smells like vegan bacon as I step out of the changing rooms. I got out just as others are starting to come in. Master says normal bacon increases our risk of colon cancer, so he shan't risk our safety even for such happiness. At the hotels restaurant they serve regular bacon. I once snuck a bite. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But definitely good. Worth risking a small punishment.

I've stepped into the dining hall that connects to the main hallway, kitchen and vestibule. The wall along the hallway is all window, revealing a strip of building between the five inner circle apartments that grants access to the courtyard- like an egg with its very top missing. A clear line of vision is made from Master's throne on the middle of the table, to the top of his mid-courtyard homes second floor. He has a line of vision to his pet, who is not allowed to leave the perimeter of the courtyard. I see the boys passive torso appreciated by master's hands in the staircase, where he is in plain sight of two business Mortys there just to give a quick briefing of the latest news. No need to read papers, when you have money and an easy to explain worldview. No need for modesty when you have molded everyone around you to accept your eccentricity.

I find my place on the table a seat to the right across master. Often as he glances up at pet, our eyes briefly meet. It never fails to make me uncomfortable. Just thinking of it, as the throne still stands without its royalty, makes me fidget with my fingers. Behind the throne the wall above the doorway to the vestibule is split into four sections with stained glass windows looming high above like in some cathedral. From my point of view master on his throne is like a renaissance oil painting with his four part philosophy immortalised in art. Four deities we must live by. A lion, a snake, a spider and in front of the rising sun a Beth.

As I sit there alone waiting idly, I reflect back to my schooling here, and look at the four animals.

Each of the windows have a banner. My eye is drawn towards the gaping depths of the lions jaws. It has just 'water, power' written in it, where as the others have multiple lines of writing. We were taught the true power is in finding ways around all obstacles, like water corroding through rock. A simple message. Water embodies the tigers power in its perseverance. I told myself that this teaching is what helped me climb the ladder into my high position. Now I feel like no matter how us Mortys are told here that we have this power in our wit at manipulating tourist Rick's, it's all a joke at our expense. I feel like seeing where I was as a rookie from this perspective makes me hate the way we treat our new brothers. We teach them their previous way of seeing the world is somehow lesser than this creation of one mortal man. We rip out this multifaceted component of individuality and replace it with easy to digest four part worldview. Nice brightly coloured animals on glass like in the pages of a children's picture book.

A sudden urge to look behind me and up, is hard to resist. I manage by the power of pre humiliation, where I think hard enough how bad it would be to get caught, where I feel the shame in real time.

Why though did I have this urge? I think… I think I want to hear what he thinks of his Rick. Our Master is after all just his Rick.

My secretary sits beside me, and starts asking about my sleep, and I'm ripped out of my musings.

Morty from room 2 D places cutlery on the table, and 3 D hot on his heels places the white China. All but Master are seated. The concubines sit on their mini thrones on both sides of Master's. They've dressed in seasonally appropriate thin silk sarongs. This fall is coded red-brown and indigo. On their pale skin the combination is striking. They have the freedom to run free of well tailored forms of control. I look down at the neatly fitted cuffs of my sleeves. I chose to get gradually more oppressed by seeking position right under master's thumb. They didn't choose, or work towards a goal. They were plucked from a crowd when young, like still budding flowers from a field of weeds. I still feel like a weed when I look at them. The soft skin on their hands thinks hard labour is playing cards. Their hair is singing like a siren for me to touch their silken tendrils. When I look in a mirror I wish my hair wasn't such an undefined mess. I wish it was like theirs, like the waves of an ocean stood still. It would be impossible for me to crave a touch from them as to the bone I do not feel worthy. I wish I felt worthy of anyone's touch.

That is a part of me I have forsaken, or longingly hope I could return to, depends on the day.

I look at the concubines. They move like dragonflies, flirt with one another and joke, never being less positive than all smiles. It makes me feel dirty to see their pure nature, unwounded by external forces in this haven. I have watched them take and do unthinkable things from Master. All I had to do was lay in the dark of my room at night. I would see into the glass house, and all the rainbows of sin happening within. A normal man would see the debauchery and be aroused beyond belief by their genius acrobatics. Yet there I lay with my insecurities passing the opportunity, because: "I'm kind of tired, and I'd just start to think of work again."

Master arrives and we all stand up. As he sits we are seated. The concubines don't move, but just smile at their god, like the good little housepets they are.

"Good morning children," master says to all present. "Every morning is good, Master, " we answer in well practiced choir. Food is carried on the table at this que. Master is the first to pick up a utensil and fish a boiled carrot fried with thyme from a steaming dish. Then we dig in. I take some broccoli-rye crust pie and sour cream with dill and lemon. Then we wait as master fills his plate. When he is done he raises his goblet of fruit juice: "May you be nourished by my offerings."

"We bid you prosperity in return," we answer.

"Let's eat," he says and we begin our quiet meal. Two newer members are talking at the end of the table, but hungry mouths live in silence.


	4. Punished

A lower rank Morty from outside the campus, brings word of a peeved customer causing a scene at the hotel. I pardon myself from breakfast even before finishing my plate, and leave in a flash. It would break the fantasy if us workers just walked around in our morning stupor, so for keeping face we commute by underground tunnels. It always smells like mold down there, but it's not long till I reach the hotel basement. I enter through the laundromat and take the management elevator to the lobby.  
As the doors of the elevator open, I enter back to the world of wealth from the underbelly. A very peeved indeed Ricks yells can be heard back at this opposite side of the floor. I take two breaths conjure up a polite smile, and strut to the lobby.

A Rick with his left labcoat sleeve torn off, is swaying heavily and yelling at our poor bodybuilder Mortys. They have strict orders not to touch a customer unless he poses a threat. This guy is just a threat to his liver. I walk up to him, as he's eyeing me up. My uniform seems to impress him, as I'm his next target practice:" 'Ey y-y-you big shot! Come ova' 'ere! I go-got a bone to pick with you." I nod and answer:" How can I be of service Rick?" Security is looking at me with doubt but I brush them off. Rick points at me, poking my sternum with his bony finger, and a bit of spittle lands on my face as he leans in:" your cra-sh-shithole charges me two dollars mo' for a basic whiskey than da bar at the nearby asteroid! And now your staff ripped my sleeve! I demand pr-pro-proper service!" I glance at security and these buff closet sized Mortys are looking at their feet and blushing. We're a pathetic person.  
I turn to the customer, bat my lashes, take a looser stance and as if parting a secret whisper behind my hand:" If you calmly walk back to your room, I'll send you a gift basket full of our finest. I'll also ask the laundry to patch up your coat. Best not look too happy tho, or I'll be sending one to everyone else in this building soon. Just between you and me." I wink at him, but he still doesn't seem sold. He must just want to vent and not really complain about a real problem. Not uncommon. "Actually you know what," I say still hush hush and take out a piece of folded paper from my pocket I hand it to him, keeping my hand on his as I continue: "it's an unlimited access code to the hotels online pornlibary. I can leave it activated for you even after you leave." He looks down at the paper, and my hand, has a lazy blink,burps, and goes:''aight," and stumbles to the elevator.

I check the time. It's barely late enough for any of our other guests to be awake. Perfect.  
I turn to security and they follow me obediently to the staff space. By the book they should be punished by community service for destroying a customer's property, but they get off with just spanking from our head of personnel.

The elevator ride up to my office is quiet and filled with self doubt. If the Mortys had personal property, they could just pay for their crimes in currency. Another tool of oppression I'm suddenly aware of.

I'm choosing wines for the next quarter with my assistant. We're going through feedback gotten for our previous choices, and coming up with a list of new but as near to the most previously liked ones. I could trust my assistant manager, who is more closely responsible for staff recruitment + training, and farm communications. All the food used to feed every mouth on our soil is grown in our soil. If they don't see a potential in a Morty to be an escort or some other well educated profession, they work on the fields. Every carrot left on a alcohol saturated sponge of a Ricks plate, is grown from seed by delicate Morty hands with dedication. Most our guests are too preoccupied by all the circus Master puts on for them to appreciate the craftsmanship of our farmers and chefs alike. So these carrots that are small but have a taste sweet as a peach, are thrown to be turned back to soil, without giving immense pleasure to some undeserving fucks taste buds.

Here I am starting at a list of whiny letters to the kitchen telling them what year to pick next time, and pretending any of this matters. These filthy animals come here to get drunk of their asses and enjoy company at the red light district. Master loves it as… well he is one of them. He loves showing other versions of himself that they are inferior by giving them his excess wealth, like a king his scraps to a homeless dog. "Stay the first week for free, and enjoy our tax free escorts!" is how the travel agency brochure goes.  
And it works, as we are fully booked all year around. But the escorts are tax free, because they don't get paid. None of us do. The best equivalent to obtaining wealth is getting to a higher position like I have. Wealth is to be seen by Master in a good light. This is as high as I'll ever get on this planet. I am at the peek of my existence. It can only go down from here. I feel like I'm waiting for the ledge I'm standing on to crumble beneath me. If Master truly knew how I have come to doubt him, it would be revealed I am but a fraud. I don't belong here.

"Boss?"  
My assistant is looking at me expectantly: "Mushrooms with this -04 white?"  
"Ah, um -yes it would seem so."  
"I'll mark for order three dozen."  
"Yes."


	5. Touch

Supper has passed, and light is fading away from the sky. I sit on my bed and leaf through a stack of magazines. I'm supposed to choose two publishers to drop from our current subscription list. I know which two are expected of me to drop, but I'm stuck leafing through the pages hungry for knowledge of the world outside from some other perspective. Mostly I'm looking at pretty pictures on glossy pages, pretending I can smell all the fresh ripe fruit and salty ocean. I imagine the ocean smells like the salt baths we have in our spa. It's the closest reference point I have. Here we just have wild water in a muddy pond where we grow fish.  
I would like to visit earth one day again, see how the place has changed.

Utopia is for life. Here you leave only if sold to the highest bidder, or in parts shoved in the highest bidders luggage. I would need to seduce a Rick and prove I'm a worthy purchase. Sadly I lack the proper training and am wildly inexperienced. I'd need to get multiple interested buyers and arrange my own bidding war. Even then the probability of me getting more freedom by changing owners is slim. Better keep my eyes open for an easily charmed wealthy Rick with high moral standards. Good luck looking for a unicorn at this cesspool.

From the corner of my eye, I see pet's room light up across the garden. He stretches in his pyjamas, and walks to his handiwork basket. I shut off my light, and hoping not to be spotted, walk to my window.

I would never dare, but Master just left to keep a presentation at a finance conference, so the rest of the glass house is empty, and as he took the concubines with, there is no reason to think anyone but pet could possibly see me unless they grew wings. Master gets tight jawed if he sees someone else appreciating the special young boy.

In his glass cage he looks fragile. I differ- by being behind my own wall of glass, on display for master's viewing as if in a zoo- not really that much. He has picked up an emerald ball of yarn.

This is the second time today I find myself lost looking at that calm form use yarn like it's his duty in life. Why? He's trapped even worse that I am. Is he happy? When I've dared to look he never smiles. Just knits through loud orgies happening below him. Maybe he's deaf? That would be the ultimate cruelty if he was unaware of Masters doings. But I really am not allowed to know much and all that I do know is speculation.

He freezes and looks at me. Don't know what gave me away, but I am unwilling to break eye contact. He seems startled by my defiance, but doesn't look away. It's possible this is a first for him. He walks even closer to the window, knitting forgotten on the floor, and carefully waves at me. He has a healthy flush on his cheeks matching his fuzzy bunny slippers.

There is a new sensation at the bottom of my stomach, and I don't know if I like it. I raise a shaky hand and wave back. I have no idea what to do next, and opt for turning around and escaping to my personal bathroom.

This is a sure-fire suicide mission.


	6. Milk caramel

"I have chosen to test our staff," I announce to my secretary. He turns to a blank page of his notebook. "I'll need the notes on our most notable current clients, and a general staff uniform." "That is an excellent idea sir," he chimes and leaves for our filing room. A moment later he hands me a pile of thick folders. He then leaves me to read. Master is generous to the point of madness. I open the topmost file. The front leaf has a headshot of a stoic Rick with a golden raygun in hand. The first line of text notes the reader that this is a partnerless Rick by choise, so perhaps just what I need. I drag my finger down the paper as I try to find useful information. His name is first mentioned half way through the page, as where the top is drowning in income statistics and real estate listings. He's some bigshot in medical microrobotics. I brush my finger on the thick ink lettering of his dimension code. It doesn't ring a single bell.  
I leaf to the fifth page where his preference notes start.  
Most consumed alcohol is mint vodka with crushed ice. He asks often when inebriated for whole limes. Seen just sucking on them in between verses of karaoke.  
Has never not finished a plate of food, or made a complaint. Seems to not have any food preferences.  
He sounds boring.  
I leaf forward. Impessive, he has no notes of violent behaviour. On the contrary he is noted to be 'easy to work with'. Can I set myself higher standards that that?

My assistant brings the clothing. "I'll serve him some complimentary delicacies. Go ask the lobby desk if they know his common evening schedule. I'll test the cooks on the evening shift." He writes it down and leaves once more. I place the uniform on the desk neatly and stare at the chrome plated dome shaped buttons. They distort my face. I agree with the buttons. This is bending myself unrecognisable… so be it.

My staff worked effortlessly, and very exact to the minute on the schedule. It was rewarding to note that Morty is capable of perfect performance when we'll trained. Spirit crushed and reshaped into a desirable form. Complete domination by one smart Rick. Master is a genius in how he has composed this perfect simphony for us to dance to. We thrive.

I roll the food cart to the staff elevator.


	7. Venus in furs

The elevator comes to a halt. It rattles for a second, and opens its doors. Incognito I push the cart to the lavish hallway. It's the top floor. Here only four customers reside. I'm headed to the smallest. 'Room 1201' says a plaque in gold engravings. A small pale yellow light above indicates he is inside. I open a small slot next to the plaque, and type on the small touch screen: "Breakfast serving. Compliments of the hotel management. Requesting entry." If he's awake the message should be displayed on all hotel owned screens. I wait for a response and, pick dirt from under my nails that isn't there.

The hallway is quiet. The thick carpet covering the entire hallway is sucking out all sounds. It's as if even the sound of my breath stops existing. A low thrumming of the air-con feels louder than ever. It now consumes all else. A picture of pet flashes at my minds eye. It pains me with shame. What has this place driven me to?

"Uhm." A raspy voice sounds out. I'm startled. At the slightly ajar door stands a sleepy looking Rick. Not very often can I call myself taken off guard but the utter lack of shame he displays is… "Couldn't be bothered to type back a message. Bring it in," he tells me and walks back to his quarters, leaving me to look at his semi bare ass walk away. He's wearing a sheer negligee lined in furs and frills, and only that. Never have I seen one on a man, nor lined in fur. This is not the man I thought I'd meet. How could the file of him not have some mention of this? Master likes to stereotype, and this definitely falls under his definition of flamboyant.  
'Never underestimate a Rick' rings in my head from the ancient feeling times of my schooling. I can almost smell the pencil sharpenings.

I close the door behind me. "Where would you like me to set it up?" I ask of the man that is about to exit to the balcony. He stops- hand already near the door-, and turns to me. He seizes me up, with a slight squint. A drop of sweat is rolling down my spine. My front gets an evaluation. What can I do? I'm pretending to be a low rank who doesn't even own the clothes on his back, in a 'small luxury apartment' with a sofa the length of a dozen Mortys. He wants to look- he looks. Between us is the entirety of a massive room, but as he looks at me it might as well be an arm's length. Another drop of sweat.

"Sofa table," he finally states and leaves the room. I dare not gawk, and play out my servant role. The entire time I feel his presence. From the corner of my eye, I can see his figure leaning on the glass balcony railing, through the massive windows.  
As I'm setting down cutlery, I'm at an opportune angle and steal a glance. He's looking at me. No shame again. Whereas I thought he was looking at the scenery, this whole time he was looking at me. I feel like a ripple at sea. I'm immobilized. I have no idea what to do. He takes the reigns, and moves back inside:" I thought I was being polite by leaving the room. Seems I was mistaken. Shall I leave?"  
"I thought I was the servant here," just slips out, before getting censored. My nerves are getting the best of me. I'm holding a knife with a serviette, and I can feel my palm sweat seeping in the paper. If I really was a servant I'd fear for my job… Honestly I should fear for my job even now.

He surprises me by laughing :" Sounds about right. Do your job then." So he walks to the sofa and lounges down to watch me work.


	8. Cocoon

"Eat with me."

It's not a question, so I sit my ass down, and then ask. "How can I be of service?" The table is set and he is a modest two Mortys lengths away from me on the sofa. He lounges like a panther on a tree branch, with all his glory on full display. It is rude to look, but pure human curiosity is trying to fish my gaze below the navel. Just stick to my training: only escort Mortys take the first step. Can't disgrace Utopia even in pursuit of freedom, I'm too hardwired.  
He leans his head on his hand: "hand me bite sized portions," and crosses his legs. I nod, and begin assembling varying tiny mountains on a plate. He silently watches. I've worked some in the kitchen, so it's more muscle memory than art.

As I'm putting the last garnish in place he tells me to pick up a fork. I turn to him with these offerings but he shakes his head: " No, you feed me." It sounds like a dare to me, but he seems calm. I toe off my shoes, and on my knees get closer to him. The sofa is covered in velvet leather. I feel it's softness even through my uniform. Every inch closer reveals a new (expensive) detail on him. From the most faint gold chain on his neck, is hanging a pea sized diamond, and he's wearing matching studded earrings. Next my eyes are caught by his bracelet- it must be worth more than this hotel. But who's to say he didn't just get the stones from a dimension where their value is lower. Also I note he has some thin golden highlights in his hair. Is this splurging a show of poor judgement in investments, or is he husband material?

I come to a stop at a feeding distance. He points at one of the piles on the plate. It's a thin slice of sauteed pineapple on a piece of pita bread with a thin slice of smoked chicken. On top I put just a few spicy peanuts. I pick it up with the side of the fork and carefully feed it to him. It's just narrow enough not to smear his perfect skin at the sides of his mouth. As he chews I marvel at how unmarred his complexion really is. He has either had some work done, or he has never seen a day of hard work. No old battle scars, or even fading scrapes. Perfect pores and wide expanses of healthy skin. He even has less wrinkles than the Rick's I'm used to. It's odd. I now need to know everything about him.

He points at another pile, this time salmon with sour cream and caramelized shallots, and I take note of his well groomed nails. Not polished, but definitely tended to by a professional not from this planet.  
As he chews I choose a topic :" You have beautiful jewelry." It's just a statement, but I don't want to come off as if I'm determined to fulfill some goal. He enjoys his bite slowly and then answers: "This necklace was the first gift I got in my adult life. My very first sugar daddy…" . He points and I hand him a glass of juice. He soon continues:" I actually came here to buy his company from another Rick. Didn't feel right leaving it to someone else."  
His words strike a chord. If he started accumulating wealth by leeching, then I can't keep up this charade of innocence for as long as I'd like. Would be easiest to have his emotional attention first, but now it'd just seem cruel. I'll tell him my true intent before I leave this room. Preferably just before. It's a gamble, but worth the risk.

"Have you enjoyed your stay?" I ask. He looks at me for a moment with a calm expressions. He lifts his hand, and is about to stroke my cheek, but stops just before, hand mid air:" May I?". I've never heard these words from a Rick. I nod. He gently touches my face. His hands are not the rough in texture as. one associates with continuous tinkering and manual labour. He seems to have just about everything but genetics separating him from our common clientele. How many other Rick's have chosen the path of emotional intelligence? Just him?  
He leans slightly closer, points at food, and as I'm gathering it, answers my previous question: "It's been fine. Your services are worth recommending to royalty. But your brothels don't remove my loneliness."  
I recall the mention in the file of self chosen Mortylessness. "Why don't you have a Morty?" I ask and feed him.  
He retreats his hand as he chews. He points and I hand him the juice glass. After a good gulp, he looks back at me: "Would you be as attracted to me if I had another Morty sitting here with us?- Actually you might be the wrong person to ask that from, but in general I find Mortys a bit creepy. I don't want anyone depending on me."  
"Mortys can be independent too," I retort. He smiles:" And yet you chose to live under constant surveillance." I feel the conversation has shifted from all Mortys to me in particular. I won't get a better chance.  
"I wouldn't If I had the choice to leave."

Something lights up in his eyes and he tilts his head to the side a tad: "...You aren't clones right?... So how did he lure you here? Money?"  
Years of brainwashing tightens my throat. "Pretty much." I try to downplay my discomfort even though I know here lies manipulation gold.  
He takes the china from my hands and puts it on the table. He gently places half his palm atop mine. It's warm.  
Fuck over thinking. I crave to tell him everything. I want to speak truth for the first time in years.  
"I run this hotel, but If I want out I need to be bought in a bidding war. I can't climb any higher in ranking here, and my valued position hasn't made me any happier. I need rescuing." His hold on my hand tightens. I hold back tears. I feel him move, and soon I'm wrapped in a thick blanket. The tears overflow and I weep in my cocoon. It feels wonderful.


	9. Foundations

Rick left me on the sofa. He's too much of a stranger for me to not be grateful for the space to grieve.

At some point he has turned on the radio to the hotels frequency, the only station that can be heard this deep in space on the road to no man's land. Soft jazz with a luscious female vocalist helps me break out of my blanket casing.

The world around me, with all its clean whites, feels very bright. Blinking with watery eyes I look around, and the loft seems void of life. Soon I find him on the balcony. He's reading a paper, back towards me. It only seems appropriate to say something before slipping out. I have to go, to avoid the spanking of a lifetime. For now I can just say I gave him a blowjob or something, but I need him to back up my story. My nerves can't settle.

I knock on the open doorframe leading to the balcony. (Really it's more an apartment sized deck fifty meters off the ground, with all the luxuries, like a swimming pool, hidden beneath the deck.) He lowers his paper:" feel any better?"

I take a moment to think it through and then answer: "I was never feeling bad, just frustrated with my situation I guess. Sorry it got unloaded on you."

He laughs:" don't apologise. I can take it. You wouldn't believe the amount of guys that cry after sex with me. Could clock in more hours than a bartender. I even once got a cake in the mail after the fact. Crying is healthy physically and mentally. It's proven to have all kinds of positive affects, not much unlike the ones of orgasms."

"Not going to tell me the affects in a long preach, where at the end you make me question my own existence? How un-Rick-like of you. "

"You don't want to hear all that. All you want to hear is that I don't think you're weird. Isn't that what all Mortys look for in Rick's - validation from whom you respect?"

"Wouldn't know, didn't grow up with one."

He folds his paper. " **If** I agree to buy you, what is it you want of me? Because I must remind you I cannot offer you high stake adventures nor most things your average grandpa can."

My heart jolts. "I uhm. Really thought I'd agree to just about anything but explicit slavery."

He lets out a forced laugh: "That's just the mentality that deters me from getting a Morty. I'm sorry but until you can accept some more appropriate ground for our relationship, I'll just feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"Oh."

"How about you come back in a week, and we have another talk. I'll be taking you straight to a psychiatrist because God knows what personality disorder this place has given you, but I want you to at least leave on your own terms. But it will sadly have to wait."

"What exactly do you want me to tell you next time?"

"No cheating on the test young man. No but in all seriousness there is three main things that will do for now: how much money do you want on your personal account annually, do you wish to work, and how do you wish for me to arrange your living at the start. The rest we can negotiate at a more appropriate time. But these three I can foresee giving us most grief."

"You want to make me happy."

"No question. But no matter what I call you, you aren't a young man, but a man. I expect you to behave as one, and help me work things out "

"I'd like that."

"In a week then."

We smile. "I'll leave, before I get in real trouble… Oh, if someone asks, I gave you a mediocre handjob."

He has a good laugh. It sounds homey.

"I'll call you anti-Rick when I come, so there's no mix up," I say, he nods. I clean the dishes to the cart, and leave.

In the safety of the elevator, sunshine blooms in my chest. I can barely stop grinning in time, to not seem like I've finally lost it, to the dishwashers.


	10. None the wiser

I'm steaming creases off my uniform. Took the machine in my room for privacy. The status symbol made of cloth is hanging from my closet door. The old hinges creak with every movement. Glad I have soundproofing.  
The smoothing of the imperfections is instantaneously gratifying. Combined with just looking at the swirls of steam, it's very relaxing. My mind is decluttering, and turning the world to softer hues. I shut off the machine. It's return can wait till morn.

I walk to my bed and pull from the drawer of my night stand a small blue book. It doesn't much see the light of day. I don't feel comfortable expressing my true emotions on page when I have no private property. It would just be written confessions to sin. I leaf to the first empty page. There's a bunch of leaves missing, as it has mostly just served as a recourse of scrap paper. Today is no different. I rip out a page. I put the book away and rummage for a pencil. I find one that looks like it was some dogs favourite toy at some point. It has to do for now.

"How much money do you want on your personal account annually, do you wish to work, and how do you wish for me to arrange your living at the start" I repeat his words in my mind.  
How do I want to live when I'm free? It's hard to fathom what being free even feels like. I'm sure I'll go insane without something to do, so at least I know I won't just stay home. I'll definitely work, washing dishes at some restaurant if nothing else. Maybe I'll go study something. I digress.  
I write down:"1. Enough money to live comfortably." It feels too vague, so I cross it out. "1. Funds accordingly with my possible hobbies, projects and needs. Don't know if I even like hobbies yet. Maybe I'm not even a hobby person. 2. Don't know if I'll work or where. 3. Don't know how I yet truly feel about him, so can't say how I want to live when the time comes. For now it has seemed to work for me to have a room of my own. Maybe that's the safest solution."  
I re-read my pitiful attempt at some conclusion. I have still a week to ruminate. I'll come up with something better. I have to. I fold the paper, and hide it in my underwear.  
I look out my window. Masters house is dark, and only one of the concubines is home. I get up and put on my casual clothes. They're the basic Morty outfit, but with badges at the front telling people my rank. It feel like gloating, but it's the only way I'll be let go wandering out unsupervised until nine in the evening. Normal Mortys need to be inside by half past seven. I check the time. It's eight. Can get some quiet in the gardens, and destroy the note. Flames are too eye catching, so the fish pond will do.

Half an hour later I arrive at the fishing hut. The foul smell of fish guts is unmistakable. I take out the note, and after looking around me to make sure I'm alone, I crumple it up and throw it as close to the center of the water as I can. Fish flock around it, and the white blob bobs as the hungry animals all attempt to get a taste. It doesn't take long for some unfortunate individual to swallow it.

There is nothing to see but calm waters anymore, and yet I can't pry my eyes from the spot where it was. The feeling of decluttering my mind returns. This time it brings discomfort. I feel guilty for not being able to just run to room 1201 with all the answers and never return. I want to know what I need. It is a part of myself I have had to suppress for so long I'm not sure I still have them. But I must have them. I must still be human.

I return home feeling none the wiser.


	11. Surface tension

The next morning I get a message that there is a stomach flu wreaking havoc in the lower tier dorms right in the wing where most my employees live. Over a hundred Morty's are sick. This means massive staff shortage. I rush to the hotel straight from my shower. Can't afford to eat right now.

Still very early when I get to the hotel, and yet there seems to be full on hysteria at the staff side. We have a bit shy of half our normal staff at hand. Prep cooks are sobbing.

I call an emergency meeting.  
Silence falls on the staff room. The implied power feels now less humbling, as I feel like my actions here have less consequence. In some time I won't matter to them when I'm no longer here. Speaking comes out more naturally:" I know it's crazy to say, but we can't always push ourselves to the perfect mark. Today we will work extra hard to almost reach it. We will find solutions to all our problems with the knowledge gained from our experience , and I'm sure at the end of the day we'll be more dead than tired, but also proud. This is how you will all learn how to grow to the next step." A crowd of people are looking at me like I'm a bit off. Good. Let them be uncomfortable. "First all from the breakfast serving will be helped as much as possible, then we focus on housekeeping. I'll personally help with breakfast, and after that I'll be in here to help organize you all through this day. I can't solve every problem for you as I simply won't have the time, but this once just follow your instinct on most things. Like feel free to compensate every complaint generously and if there is a way to conserve time and it doesn't put anyone at risk, do it. Regrouping at staff lunch. Half go in the kitchen, the rest split equally to every other job needed. Remember to smile.''

I rush to the kitchen through the stairway with fifty others. Most of us aren't trained, but all know how to chop and peel. It's just enough to get us by. The main chef and I have an inventory check, and come to the conclusion it will take less talent to bake bread pudding out of yesterday's bread, than make new, like they'd do every morning. Same goes for most things. Half of the menu is substituted with easier recipes. The few present, that know what to do, get a short coffee break, to ready them for the marathon of their lives.

After an hour of the chaos, the stress begins to break my brethren, and I start hearing jokes about the situation. First the laughter is timid, but as the group feels the relief it brings, an often absent unity begins to emerge. I've never felt this close to my men. I've never even seen most my employees smile, never mind dare talk at work. It feels like the awareness of Master's gaze lifts. What better excuse for fun, than stress induced insanity.

Food gets carried out to the first early customers, and the buffet is set. A short breakfast break later I send half of the group to do room service and waitering. I pick up a note notepad and chaperone as more customers wake up. Most of them think a breakfast buffet is beneath them and require service, while others are attracted by the easy to access.

I'm carrying a plate to some oil baron when I see him enter the restaurant. He's dressed in a casual suit, and looks so similar to all the other Rick's, but for those earrings of his.  
I didn't think I'd see him before the week ends. In hindsight it was stupid of me not to prepare for this as I basically run his home at this moment. Yet here I am fighting against dropping the plate from my nerves.  
I serve my current customer and make my way to him as If he called for service.

He looks at me blankly. He has eyebags, and seems to be in dire need of caffeine judging by the tremor on his hand. "Good morning, can I get you a cup of coffee as you choose your breakfast?" I ask and offer him the quickly printed menu lying on the table. "Large and black, please," he responds. I smile at him:" coming right up." He smiles back tiredly. He's polite to all kind Mortys then. I don't want to over think that. Easier to assume he's just a nice guy. I want to think that.  
I go to the coffee station, fill his order, and return. He chooses the bread pudding with custard and a fruit salad. He has a sweet tooth then. As I put down his cutlery he looks at me queer. He couldn't tell it's me could he? I deem it impossible and hurry to hand forward his order. As much as it would please me to keep my focus on him, I can't afford that luxury, and must move to the next Rick.

As I'm bringing him his food quite some time later, a thought pops in my head. There could be a number of Rick's who chose to have the same shugar daddy, and that daddy could have given them the same earrings. I need some reason to ask his room number.

As I approach he's looking at the empty coffee cup with a vacant expression.  
As I'm putting down his plate I say:" I'm very sorry it took so long. We are experiencing some staff shortage. I'd like to write down your room number, so we can compensate this in your hotel bill."  
"It was no inconvenience. Just happy it arrived."  
"I see, sir. Enjoy your meal."

It drives me mad. I know that when I bring him his check, I'll find out, but it doesn't feel like soon enough. I keep glancing his way to see if he has eaten, and every time it feels as if he is just teasing me with his slow pace.

Finally I get to go to him with our card reader with check in hand. He hands me his card and I swipe it in the machine. It tells me the account is accessed and I hand him back his card. I feed the bill to the machine and it prints to the tail end the account number. I hand him the receipt. "Good day sir," I thank him and move to the registry. The number on the receipt burned to the back of my skull.

I go about my day, until I get to return to my office for a break. My assistant is busy, and I'm gracefully left alone. I pull out the folder of him I've slipped in my personal drawer. I flip it to the first page and in a fraction of a second confirm it was him. He likes his breakfast sweet, and drinks black coffee


	12. Natural predator

I crave to have another bite.

It's late evening. I have stayed to help the evening shift. I'm serving drinks in the lounge. It's a semi full house. A band is playing jazz, and not just any doll, but the doll , is singing on stage. I adore Christi. We've employed her for years. Every Thursday she sings. There is a soft rasp in her voice. It's like mom would have learned to use her vocal chords as gracefully as she deserved. Something primal and oh so soothing always lands on the audience as she she hugs us with words.

He is watching her in the audience too. He has a different waiter. It was dictated before my arrival. His watergates are fully open.

The song ends and Christi tells the audience the band will continue paying again in half an hour. She gets off stage. I see no one else going to their service, so I walk to their table near the back. All seven members sit around a large round table and begin ordering drinks. I get to The doll last, she turns to me and looks at me with painted eyes. She takes a drag of her cigarette:" Not feeling too hot tonight, so bring me a pot of ginger tea and a shot of honey rum." I write it downs, and when I look up to ask if she needs something else, a Rick with diamond earrings has appeared beside her. Her attention is stolen by him as they greet with warmth. There is a small pause, so I ask him if he'd like to order something. He asks for mint vodka.

I return some time later. As I'm walking closer I look at the pair. There is a natural rouge to her cheeks, no makeup could ever replicate, as he leans in and smirks while speaking. The corners of her eyes are wrinkled, and she fiddles with her thumb the chunky ring on her index.

I lay down the first drink and start working clockwise. I listen to them as I move closer. "I would be more than happy to fly you to my home on earth. Please. You would make my birthday celebrations truly special," he begs her and tilts his head. "Oh alright! Lord knows I need a vacation. Now stop looking at me like that, or I'll never leave once I'm there" she answers quickly brushing him off. He grabs her hand, and I watch their fingers intertwine. He whispers something to her, she smiles shyly. I place his drink in front of him, and without acknowledging my existence, raises it in the air: " Your lovely front woman has agreed that you play at my party this January. I insist you all come to enjoy my estate for the entire week."

There are loud cheers around the table as I'm walking away.


	13. Baby steps

Toxic thoughts and feelings have festered in my mind all week. Add on the stress caused by the staff shortage, and you have a defeated man. I'm exhausted.

I manage to snag the responsibility of taking up my potential suitors food. It's 11 in the evening, and he has ordered tofu curry from the kitchen. I push the cart to the elevator, and take a breather. The air is wafting with a combination of all the spices in the food and the pot of chai latte. Here, hidden from everyone, I can admit to myself I was too busy and stressed, to revise the questions he proposed. I have no answers, only a million more questions. In fact I feel like I gained three years from all the insecurities I have now piled on myself by over analyzing.

"Good evening, anti-Rick," I greet through the intercom. My heart is racing as I try to hear any signs of life begins the door. A few long seconds of listening to the thump of my own heart, the door opens.  
This time he is dressed in a red gown like bathrobe. In one hand he holds a half full glass of champagne. He looks at me conspiratorially, one brow arched and left corner of the mouth raised to a smirk. "There comes the rebel boy. I am quite hungry tho, so let's skip poetry. Put it on the bar," he ushers me inside. The room looks cozy in the dark of the night. At day it was all clinical whites, but now it is a cozy candle lit merengue with shadows of caramel. There is a bushel of fresh orange lilies in a vast glass vase on the sofa table, and a few luxurious clothing items are sprawled about. It smells like the jungle and expensive scented candles. I'm sold on the fantasy.

I push the cart behind the bar counter, and begin serving up. He sits down on the correlating stool on the other side, and through the glass surface, I can see him cross his legs. The arch of his bare foot is deliberate or practiced, as it's perfect posture, nearly makes me misplace the eggplant.  
"Have you done your homework?" he asks and leans on his elbow. "Yes and no," I answer as I place the knife. "Oh? What was the hardest part?" His calm approach, pulls out my honesty. It's refreshing not to get attacked for my incompetence. I put all access things back to the cart, and then lean on the lower level counter, meant for mixing drinks. "Couldn't finding answers to questions that feel foreign in concept. I don't remember what living free is like. How can I answer your questions."  
He lets go of the champagne glass and extends a hand towards me invitingly. I take it without hesitation. He looks at me with softness:" I appreciate you opening up about this. Perhaps in this case we can't predict all to come. We can work with that now that we're aware of it. Don't fret on it kiddo… Hey, how about you just tell me about yourself then?"  
"Yeah, uh, sure. May I?" I ask and point at the barstool two seats left of him. He nods, as he's picking up the cutlery, and isn't phased as I get seated. It is a seat of high quality. It's smooth texture gets me comfortable and loose enough to talk real talk. "Well I don't really know that many things one can excel at, but I enjoy reading comic strips in magazines, and wallowing in existential chaos. I don't particularly like myself. Be it that my environment has minimized my potential of being more suited to my morals, or that it is I who alone is incapable of reaching my summit. It's a point of curiosity for me, to see who I'll become without the restraints."  
Between dainty mouthfuls, he says:" You're very wordy for a Morty."  
"I got to my position by reading."  
"How can a place like this ever encourage self bettering with books? Every dictatorship knows an intelligent citizen is harder to control." His hands are very busy with cutting seared vegetables. I stare at their graceful movements. A slender pointer finger is resting against metal of a utensil like a divan. His manicure has changed.  
"The books were given to me after I showed an interest in management."  
"Figures. How about friends? Do you get along with other Mortys?" he talks while eating.  
"I know how to make them feel what I want, but I feel no other incentive to behave than one of pure survival. There is a real connection to my employee's from time to time. They have found a place close to my heart, even if not as individuals. But mostly I just feel indifferent. They don't understand how miserable they truly are, and that blind acceptance is hard to relate to, even when I know intimately just what insecurity is holding them back."  
"Are you angry at yourself for not realising the severity of your situation earlier?" He asks and sips chai.  
it rings so true to my ears it hurts. "Absolutely."  
"It's painful but ultimately easiest to let someone else control you. My master Rick is very good at what he does, in that if you are blind, you'll contently just roll forwards never questioning the pre-dug path. Get too close to the edge, and someone is there to steer you in the right direction. No true learning, just the forwards motion. I hate to think I was so gullible, I just have gone along with it."  
"But here you are'' he confirms, sips bubbly, and turns to me momentarily:" You have survived. Don't look back again. For a while just endure. Worst case scenario: I'll portal us to safety."  
I close my eyes and smile. I can't help it. It feels as if he has already accepted me. My dreams of escape have been validated.


	14. Comfortable

"How long can you stay?" anti-Rick asks me, as the last mouthful of curry disappears. "I think a generous estimate is about an hour. It's so late I can slip this by easier. Not many people are even here from the staff. Mainly just Mortys in the bar and restaurant areas." "Then why not stay two?" he asks turning to me by rotating the barstool. He looks immaculate, with his pale complexion contrasted against the plush crimson he wears. His left leg comes out of the slit in the robe, like an albino snake. The furry texture of the fabric framing it makes his skin look akin to polished ivory. Something's creeping up my nape, that raises my hair's on end. As it reaches the tips of my body, my toes and face are all warm and fuzzy. "Why not," I repeat. My attention is drawn by a small smudge right where his big toe meets the next. I take my handkerchief and say:"you seem to have some dirt on your foot, may I clean it?" He shocks me by bursting into a thundering laugh.  
"It's Amanda Lepoures tits."  
"What?"  
"It's a very small scale tattoo. I framed the bosoms of the one who inspired me when I was younger. Can you tell I lacked male presence in my life?" We laugh, and he lifts his leg rather acrobatically on the counter. I take a closer look at it. It's smaller than a post stamp, but I can still make out the hair thin lines that indeed depict two very silicone filled tits inside the most intricate of baroque inspired frames.  
"Who is she?"  
"A work of art by way of modern science. You'll have plenty to read on her at my home. I took this ten years ago, thinking it could inspire me to be more fearless. But alas here I am still only wearing jewelery outside of this room. The social position I have worked myself into, is inherently restrictive. It would put off my customers and trade partners, even just high society friends, If I walked out in a shimmery tuxedo, or god forbid one of my gowns. So here I am with these two puppies mocking me for my weakness in self expression. I have taken steps forwards but it was already some time ago. I want to remove the whole thing, but it would be like admitting loss. "  
"I can relate" I say, and gently touch the inked skin. I hear a faint intake of air from him, and that innocent sound, brings me to a state of keen awareness of his being. A faint pulse can be seen just above the tattoo, and as I let my gaze travel up his leg, the curious nature of his position is revealed. The lifted leg allows viewing of his smooth perineum, and somehow only that.  
Our eyes meet at the end of my travels. He has a knowing expression. Mildly hooded eyes shift as he brings down the leg: "I want music."  
In a flourish he is gone, and at the other side of the room. Latin jazz fills the room. The already candle lit environment, seems to grow softer. I might have accidentally put on my rose tinted glasses.

I watch him move to the music, with learned ease. He knows his rhythm, and he knows his body. The robe adds to his movements ageless class. A step towards me and a sway of the hips. A step few steps back and a swirl of a hand. Like a wave at shore he slowly glides across the room. As he's within reach, a happy man greets me with clear eyes. "Let's dance." It is impossible to refuse.

At a respectable distance I give it a go. For one song, I am liberated from expectations, and make a complete fool of myself. My body is awkward, and I have horrible coordination. He only encourages me the worse it feels I'm doing. Is this why other teenagers like to dance? Is this what they feel at house parties: Liberation? I've never been comfortable enough with another person before, to try this and like it. Before it has felt awkward and strained. Who am I becoming with him?

The song changes and he nods back towards the bar:" can you make a cocktail?" he's calming his breathing. I whip him up a peppermint/lemon zest soda vodka with crushed ice. It's fast and easy. I'm not the best of mixologists. I bring it to him by the sofa. He places the glass against his flush chest and cheeks. He moans in relief, and begins drinking. The glass has left droplets on his skin.  
He pats the place beside him. I sit down. This is closer than when we danced. He brings the glass back against his chest:" You seemed to enjoy yourself. I'm sorry my body is higher up in years, and can't keep up."  
"I barely noticed."  
He smiles at the compliment, and it brings butterflies to my stomach. The combination of hot skin, cool glass, mild exhaustion and sweat looks edible. He glows in all the right places, and the pale complexion is flushed to perfection. He looks as alive as I feel. A rush of adrenaline moves me. I lean forwards and steal a shy kiss. I can feel him smile against my lips. A hand goes through my scalp, and presses me against him. I hear glass getting placed on the floor, and a second hand finds itself at my back. The kiss grows hungry. My nerves are on fire, and I reciprocate with all my knowledge. He doesn't seem to mind my incompetence, but cherish it intensely. His robe is every bit as soft as it looks. Every mistake I make is exploited not scolded. One of my kisses doesn't quite land on its target, so he takes a lick at the corner of my mouth. I moan from the unexpected sensitivity of the spot. He bites down lightly, and I can't help but squirm. It's overwhelming. He suppresses my second moan with his mouth. I comply.  
I can feel his arousal against my thigh, and the knowledge feeds my hunger.  
He slows down, and finally pulls away:" I would love to watch a movie." My heart sinks a bit, but I do need some time to process the happenings, so I nod.

We end up watching two episodes of some silly but artsy animated sitcom. I rest my head in his lap all through. He absently pets my hair as he makes fun of the emotional handicaps of the characters. Laughter feels natural in his presence. It feels lovely.  
The credits roll, and he stretches. "Do you have to leave?" My arousal dwindling, and head clearing, I form my thoughts:" Unless you want to get accused of kidnapping, yes." His disappointment brings me joy. At the door he steals one more kiss, and I promise to return next week. This time leaving is harder.


	15. Impatient

Pet is knitting again. Master is sleeping downstairs. I'm revising the papers on how many extra shifts my staff did during the week. Concubines are sleeping. Just me and pet now. I feel grounded, and excited about life for the first time. As I look at pet, still caged, I pity him. He will never have an opportunity to escape. Over the paper I can see his nimble fingers guiding his work. He's distracting himself from coming face to face with the fact that his life is getting wasted for someone else's entertainment. In seconds, looking at him becomes uncomfortable. Then I never want to look in his direction again. It makes me sick. I put away my papers and turn my back on the windows.

I turn off my light and pretend I could get some sleep with a mind that has its main pipes clogged by persistent thoughts. A light is turned on behind me. I can't resist turning back towards the courtyard. It's Master, he has gone to get a snack and a drink. His movements are clumsy and tired. He hasn't any grace, as he stumbles, and drops a glass. I can't hear the impact but I can see pet flinch. Rick yells something with his gaze turned upward. Pet looks wary, and hesitantly answers. Master begins climbing up the stairs. Pet looks nervous, but fixes his posture, and summons a fake smile to greet his owner. It feels vile, but it is impossible not to watch. It's like a car crash of abuse.

I hold my breath as Master stops right by pet. He gropes the smaller man's ass, and laughs at something. Pet looks vacant when his face is out of Masters view. The smaller one of them, like out of custom, strips and lays down on a table right by the window. He strains his neck, so that the older man can't see his expression and steadies his hands against the glass. Master kisses, gropes, bites and ravages all he can, until his climax, after which he without a word descends back down and goes to sleep. Pet remains on the table, unmoving- unfeeling. He stares out into space, hands on the glass. Like a fish in a tank, just waiting to inevitably stop being the center of attention, and roll to his grave in silence.

I cannot live in a place, that takes its ethics from the teachings of a man like my Master. I need to escape. For I have woken aware, I must stop my own suffering at the feet of my home's true nature. I wonder how deep in legal trouble I'd get anti-Rick, if he really did just portal me to safety.

What if I took control in my own freedom? I could destroy all records of being involved with him. The one time I went undercover is my only documented meeting with him. There is no way even a mad genius could decipher me from my brethren. Just have to move his file from my drawer back in the archives, then there is no more connective tissue. I have been right in staying on my toes.

Will my knight on his white steed even sweep me away? He did seem pro freedom. After the display Master just gave me, I must at least ask.

My dreams let me float away momentarily. They are vague nonsense, and not worth remembering.

Something jump scares me and I sit up in my bed. I look around me, and see a peaceful early morning sun. It's cold but not harsh. Adrenaline in my veins, I sit there awake, and marvel at the world. Instinctually I gaze up to the second floor. Pet has slept on the hard surface. Fuck Master.

I wash my hair, pluck a few stray beard hairs I've become way too aware of, and all that good stuff. The high pressure water of the showers has released tension from my neck. Some of the ache caused by all the extra hours of work, is beginning to heal.

I sit again way too early at the breakfast table. I look up again at the colourful windows. This time all Master's teachings feel almost alien. So far from my current worldview it no longer feels human. As I sit here in his glorious table, everything shiny, looks dull. It no longer holds meaning. I am diparturing. I am leaving the nest. The table gets a new sentiment, one of melancholy for the past. It springs forth memories of the rare times of true laughter. A dent right by my assistants seat, where a christmas decoration star almost took his finger. My surrounding become nostalgic while I still habitate them. I long to leave my familial home. These people were my family. Even if my opinion has changed, it does not bend the truth of the past. They were the only people I could interact with, so they have importance already just by frequency of random contact.

As more people come in, I put on a proverbial mask. I know how to blend. It's what I was trained for.

Hotel staff numbers have begun staying back at normal rates again. Could come back here at normal hours. I put food in my mouth, and act like a good boy. Or I could take an evening shift, and go to him. Talk about things, just my thoughts, and hear his thoughts. Sounds so boring when thought of for a second, but right now it sounds like a holiday. As I arrive at the hotel, the way he sat on a barstool, is burned to my retinas. The tits on his foot. How he holds himself, and the mildly more melodic voice in comparison to other Rick's, by sparing his throat most of the abuse that geniuses tend to cause themselves with substances. He also has more flare for dramatic pronunciation, come to think of it. That must be why he sound like he's from a talkie .

I choose to walk up the stairs to my office. I feel like doing something repetitive. People shuffle past me up and down, fairing greetings my way, and telling me when they recovered. Some tell of a miracle herb. I'm polite, but in reality not listening to a word. That "herb" thing I just caught by accident as I thought he was finished, and getting to the point. My head is submerged in dissecting anti-Rick with a scalpel.

He wears feminine jewellery and undergarments. He has said he owns gowns, and there are silicone tits on his ankle. I can't get over the tits for some reason. Why? Am I afraid he in reality is a trans woman who hasn't had the courage to come out? No not really. I don't discriminate between genders. I'm pretty fluid on that front I think. My sex life has of course consisted only of semi consensual encounters with Rick's and wanking, so who knows, maybe deep down I'm a furry. Badum-tch. That joke must be painfully out of date by now. I wonder how the internet is doing? Bet my favorite porn stars are all mature and foxxy, and discovering themselves.

I enter my office and have a meeting with my assistant for twenty minutes. He tries to talk me out of the idea of doing an evening shift. My good mood must be turning him soft, as he gives in very soon when I won't bend, and routines roll forward. It's a full day if staying in my office and having meetings with luxury item suppliers. They smell like money, and leave the stench behind. Why is it so hard for me to swallow, when I think anti-Rick is wearing his thick wallet so well? I have the impression, that he has an honest perspective on it. He enjoys what he can get with it, but also feels the burden. These men come in my office like they despise the fact that they're not behind the desk. They look down on my small frame. Only years of hard training stop me from covering my ass in fear and whining in fear. Anti-Rick despite his status, last night he talked to me like his equal. I've never met a person so much my senior that has the guts to not condescend. He has true balls by not having to flaunt said testicles…

My assistant leaves his shift and I take my lunch break. I eat some leftovers from the breakfast buffet, in the back room. It's sad and cold food, but food.

Two hours of tedious paper work later, I finally hang my coat, and change incognito. I take a complimentary champagne from the shelf. It has some ribbons around the neck. The elevator is crowded, but past the last few floors I travel alone.

"Sir anti-Rick, I have some complimentary in a green bottle, at the door.


	16. Champagne

I can't believe myself, but I wait with baited breath for what he is wearing. He opens the door, and does not disappoint. Anti-Rick tugs me in, and I stand jaws agape inside. He is wearing a red floor length sequin gown. It has slits along the length of both legs, they go higher than his panty line, which are red lace by the looks of it. The dress is so low cut on both sides that it's mere illusion that he is clothed. The dazzling strips of modesty fall from the sculptural shoulders, and bunch right atop his navel and lower back. The small hills of his pecs and abs sit snug on the athletic body. How can a person look like that in his age? It has to be cosmetic surgery. No way he really looks that good without help.  
It takes quite a bit to faze me with outfits, or even for me to take note of someone's attire. No girl in a Halloween costume of a school uniform and bondage gear, can compete. I see a silver chain connecting the shoulder pieces peeking from behind his neck. I'd never even notice something like that, but his slender long neck and clavicles draw attention to it. He's like a painting (One that's an expensive fabrics hanger more than clothed. ) And oh that gravity defying hair with gold! I want to shove my face into it.  
Our eyes meet. He's wearing powder. There is a dusty softness on his features as he drinks up my admiration. I offer him the bottle. Please tell me he knows how to pop the cork with his ass. That's just about how ready I am to consume it. Both really.

"Wow…"  
"It is rather stunning. A replica of a dress from the 20's I once saw on a postcard. Paid a small fortune to hunt down someone capable of making period accurate fabric. "  
It's tailor made."  
"How do you have abs?" I blurt out, and blush furiously as I hear the words come out my mouth.  
He has a nice deep fit of laughter. "Thank you. Lipo suctions and yoga do wonders. People have a misconception that lipo just takes away your problems, but it hurts like a car crash and afterwards you have to work to keep the fat from coming back. I've spent many an hour in misery perfecting this master piece I call a home to my thoughts. And you don't look too shabby either with that blush." I'm at a loss for words, and just turn a riper shade of tomato.  
He finally takes the bottle from my hands and smiles:" how about I pour us a glass?"  
I nod and we walk to the bar. I stare at his ass, as it sways from side to side like two red disco balls. My fingers itch to get a feel. It looks so soft, like it was meant to have a face buried in it. Must be that yoga.  
I sit at the bar, as he finds the appropriate glassware.

"How are you?" He asks casually, while head down looking in a cupboard. "Eager to leave."  
His laughter is amplified by the hollow storaging space. "Bet you are," he says and turns back with glasses. 'there we go', he mumbles and places them on the counter.  
He uses a corkscrew, and without fuss, I soon have a full glass in hand. We touch glasses, and he toasts:'to new encounters.'  
I've tasted this many times, but never swallowed. A whole new tart flavour opens. I smile at my discovery and we lock eyes. He walks around the bar and comes to stand in front of me. The sequin rustles as the dress touches my knees. I open my legs and invite him closer. We put down our glasses. Hands meet body, and we pull each other in. His skin is warm and inviting. His stomachs meets mine.

"Are you uncomfortable with the idea of moving this fast forward with me?" he I ever have wanted, is to hear these fundamentally human worlds from some Rick's lips. I'm cared for. He is so sexy. He touches the tip of his nose with mine. Our breaths mingle, and amplify from each others faces. Being aware of the proximity makes my toes curl. "Yes."

He brings his lips to ghost over mine, and moves his head a miniscule amount from side to side, putting a smile on my face, from the mild tickling sensation. He pulls a bit away, and looks at my mouth with hooded eyes. He smiles back, and we kiss. He is gentle, but passionate. Something more like a spicy Latin lover in a cheap porn. Back on earth, I had a borderline addiction with porn. I was lonely and bored out of my mind. This is a whole new stupidly good high. I want more.

Rick gulps down all his champagne in one go, makes a face, and through puckered lips states:" that was a waste." As I'm performing the laborious task of forming coherent sentences, he leans in and kisses my jaw. I hear a faint rumble within him, and a split second later he burps loudly against my skin. It is very not-anti-Rick-like and takes me fully by surprise. A short high-pitched shriek escapes me. He gets scared of the sound and nearly falls of the stool. Both grasping our hearts, we attempt to collect ourselves. Our eyes meet. A smile tugs on the left side of his face. He sees me cracking up, and makes a face of true joy and pure humility. He looks down at his hands, and for a brief moment he seems shy, but the bursts into belly bursting laughter. I can't help but join him. He makes the ugliest yet genuine face as he laughs, and wipes his eyes.

As he begins to find composure and is just adjusting his clothing, he says:" I don't think I can pretend being sexy comes this naturally to me after that. Would you like a wet wipe for your neck?" I smile at his sudden awkwardness, as he can't keep my gaze. I brush off his offer with my hand, and feeling bold grasp his with mine. "Thank You for not pretending."  
He looks me in the eye, more confident once more. He seems quick to recover. "You know kiddo… Until now it didn't really sink in that you'll be sticking around me for a while. I better open up more, or this'll be very one sided. Would you like me to tell you something about myself?"  
"What do you like most about life?" It comes out without a second of thinking. I heard it once in a movie with Nicholas Cage or something back on Earth. It really stuck with me. This he will never know.  
He leans on the bar sideways, and crosses his legs. I take my glass of champagne, as he mulls over my question.  
"You dropped a fundamental one on me didn't you? Smart boy… I suppose finding happiness not just within my own life, but others. I love being invested in other people's happiness. I have learned how not to suffer too significantly when they face hard times, as it is so with it. Seeing someone you are invested in flourish is heartbreakingly beautiful. It gives me this immense feeling of unity. By being there to support people if only emotionally when I can, I am contributing to their life quality. I cause small positive ripples in the vast sea of civilisation. It fulfills my goal in life of being the best person I can."  
"You are quite the saint," I have no knowledge of I speak with words sarcastic.  
"Indeed."  
"Perhaps then this information gives me enough courage to ask if I can have my own room big enough also for a study, and for years I have shared a shower. If that could be mended, I am eternally grateful. You are of good fortune, and previously I was too ashamed to ask. I know no matter if we are to have a relationship in the physical sense, I will need my own space. Even if I don't sleep there, it's a new environment and I think I'll like to have some space just to myself. Haven't had that in years either."  
His grasp on my hand tightens: "I'll see to it… You still want to do your escape the auction way? We could leave immediately."  
There is a long pause as we weigh one another with our gazes. I raise my free hand and trace the side of his face with my thumb, and then slide my palm against his neck. The taught muscles relax under my touch, and his face melts to a smile. I kiss his neck and lean my face against it. I drown in his perfumes, and whisper: "I want to but I'm too afraid to take a leap over such a wide crack in the foundation of my reality. I'm ready to leave, but am unable to pull the bandage. Why can't you just be like other Rick's and order me to move to the direction you see best?"  
"I want the decision to come from you, or you'll never learn. It's how I have chosen to live my life. Order yourself to leave with me, if you so feel inclined."  
He becomes blurry. My heart aches and pounds in ways that nearly worry me. I'm torn between self hatred in old habits and my belief that no person should endure slavery. I fight the tears: "I want to leave tonight."


	17. First words

Anti-Rick tells me he'll wait for me at the bar in half an hour.  
I return to home base as quietly as possible. Don't want anyone to see I'm not at the hotel. No one must wonder why I leave, so they mustn't see me enter. I walk above ground, through the dark gardens. It's a rowdy night. I hear the sounds of a loud party in the direction of the red light district. I feel bad for the workers. Even the birds hiding in the treetops, are enjoying the party, and chirp around me, even though it's as dark as in Beth's womb. The loud base could be disturbing their sleep. There is an odd feeling in the air.  
I can see the light coming from Pet's glass home above the trees, and soon the rest of my for now home is visible. Only high ranking Mortys are on the move, the rest should tucked away behind the modesty wall. Master is at a gathering.  
I tousle my hair and remove my jacket, just to be safe, and enter the vestibule. I open and close the door carefully, to make the minimal possible amount of sound. I can hear the heavy lock mechanisms metal parts sliding against one another. The lights are out, but pet's room illuminates things enough that I am able to navigate to the garden. I see him move towards the stairs. If I stay still, I'll be spotted. Thank god no courtesans are home. Just me and pet.  
I make a sneaky dash through the garden and slip into my room. I hide behind my closet, and from there observe him go towards the glass lavatory. The stall is back towards my room. I stand and think. I need my ID card, and a few other documents. They're in my bedside drawer. I look at the medium wooden object, and then at Pet. I make a quick dash at it.  
As I'm roomaging the drawers frantically, I see from the corner of my eye Pet move. I'm stand right in his line of sight. I freeze.  
He presses the flush, and is about to look at the mirror next to his face. His line of sight goes right past me. I let out the breath I'm holding as he starts washing his hands. I'm hidden by the mirror now, so I crouch down, and move to a more shadowy spot. Pet drys his hands, and walks back to the stairs. I move back to the drawer, and hastily find my documents. I hide them in my underwear, and duck back in the shadows just as he gents to the second floor.  
He waves his arms about, and stretches. He has his back towards me so I slowly begin crawling to the door. Just as I'm opening it, he bends down to look in my direction from between his legs. Our eyes meet. I get up and stand tall. He has seen me, it can't get worse. I'll make up a lie. I go the garden, and signal for him to come down. He doesn't hesitate for a second.  
We meet at the glass houses entrance.  
He parts the door, and with a shy voice states:" you found a way to leave, didn't you?"  
"If you report me, I'll never pray for your soul," I sound too cocky for my own taste.  
He looks at me sadly:" I hope I never see you again," he says even quieter, with not much conviction. I kiss his forehead. "We might." He looks at me with the most astonishingly red blush:" go before they spot you and shoot us where we stand." My feet feel light as I jog to the vestibule. I look back over the dining table, and give pet my last look. He still stands at the door, and timidly waves at me. I slip out. I want to come back for him one day. I want to get to know who he really is.


	18. Floating in space

"It intrigues me how you will act in your natural habitat."  
"How do you know that? Perhaps in my home, I feel out of place," he snaps back quickly, and soon displays a grimace :" I'm speaking out if line, I apologize. This is somewhat of a weird part for me to discuss of my personality… I escape to your old Masters establishment, and splurge on myself, because I need to get out of my home."  
"You invited the entire band to your place, so it can't be shabby."  
He looks at me with raised eyebrows, and then squinting his eyes he leans towards me. He whispers: "it was you dressed up all normal, wasn't it. It was! That's bloody brilliant! Were you spying on me?" He sports a wicked grin, and looks truly impressed. My toes curl in my boots, and I can feel a furious blush, climbing up my cheeks.  
We're in his private space yacht, a good five hours from his estate. He said this was necessary to jumble my trail. I almost want to think based on what he previously said, that he's just is eager to spend private time with me anywhere but in his home. I hope I'm not correct.  
"Yes" I admit, but just as his cracking a laugh, I kill his joy:" Actually we were experiencing some staff shortage, and I am incapable of not helping my peop- my old staff."  
"Well any how, you cared enough that you sought me out when I was available to get served. Did you get do it other times than that? Oh pray tell how I differ, from when we're alone? I really long to hear."  
I'm overwhelmed, and clear my throat and adjust my thoughts. "Um, uh."  
"I'm sorry, am I being too much? I'm a bit jazzed up to get to know you, and can't keep in mind you have a long day behind. Yes. How about a cup of tea?"  
I just bod, and look after him as he exits the living area.

The space yacht is luxuriously nautical in decoration, and the engine emits a gutteral rumble somewhere two decks bellow. I imagine bellow is also at least two people in staff, maybe tens. It's odd being on this side of luxury. It gives me a heavy feeling at the back of my lungs. I see service errors everywhere around me, but for the first time since adolescence, I won't get punished if it doesn't get fixed. I take a breather, and try not to look at the lemon tree in a jar at the corner of the room. Even now that I'm not looking at it, I can see the wilted leaves scattered on the nearby furniture. If someone sits on them, and doesn't notice, the small pieces of brown can get lodged in the silk satin of a pillowcase, and forever ruin the item, for removing them would fray the surface… Not my problem. I'll just warn anyone who thinks of sitting on it if I happen to be present.

Anti-Rick returns with two steaming cups, and without criticizing the brews quality I enjoy a good cuppa with him. He puts on a record of soul, and we enjoy just being physically present with each other.  
This won't hurt.


	19. Revaluation

He breaks the silence.  
"I have thought of you once, while masturbating. I didn't want to kill my boner, so I only imagined you as an observer, while I copulated with my lovely imaginary friend. I call him Jack, because he's the whipping while smiling kind. " The words leave his mouth, and if I was alone, I'd shamelessly palm myself. It is very arousing.  
"That is very amusing," I state, and hastily add:" and I now feel like if I masturbate to that scenario you basically just described, I feel like we have had a significant mutual sexual connection. Is it weird I think that?"  
"I have no concrete idea darling, too philosophical, but hearing that doesn't make me want to jump off a cliff so we must be moving to the right direction."  
"You're not incorrect."  
We try to look all pondering and deep, but we simultaneously burst into laugh (his voice significantly lower than mine.). He points at me:" Don't make me question my own poshness. That's not fair! I can't jab back because it would be too fucking rude. "  
"Jab away."  
He brushes me off his shoulder.  
I retort by getting up my seat and walking to him. "Tell me something negative so I don't start thinking you only want to say nice things," I say while looking down at him. He smiles, and taps his frontal lobe:" I see where you get it from… ok. Fair enough. I hold myself to a standard of honestly with the people I want to keep near to me. "You don't believe in your own impression on the world enough. That's my best guess. I want to see you out of that tyranny, and then measure you as a man. For now I just would like to follow your adaptability and stress tolerance. Things that are pertinent to the person you currently are, not things that have been suppressed for a time. You need to find your voice again. See where you want to stretch when someone isn't actively limiting you. I would really like it if you'd let me in on the process, just as well as a therapist I have contacted. No pressure, I can cancel the whole therapy thing if you feel like you aren't ready, but if you want it, it would me peachy if the safety net was there asap. I think I'm tiring you out with my long winded speaking. I can't seem to stop talking to you. Would you like it if I show you to your own cabin, or do you want to sleep next to me already tonight?"  
I stare at him:" I like the idea of therapy on an intellectual level, so why not. A concerning sleeping arrangements if possible, for now I would like to sleep by myself."  
"You'll find toiletries in the bathroom. We'll arrive at my home, 4 am local time. Let's just move inside and continue sleeping for a few hours. I'll show you to your room. "  
I nod, and he shows me to my bed. I bid him good night . He kisses my hand… Suddenly when I turn around I am in a silent room all by myself. For the past five years, this ha-...

No .

I must reorient myself! …

If I intend to stay safe from an impending mental breakdown that might be bubbling underneath, I must stay positive. Here I am safe. These people have my best interests in mind, because they get paid to do that. I'm safe here. For now no one has had any agenda against me, and anti-Rick hasn't mentioned any threats against his life. I'm safe. I have to learn to relax now. To minimize the damage done to my psyche, I need to put myself in a place where I am safe. I put my trust in these people to save my own scrawny ass. I'm safe.

I lay on the bed and attempt masturbating. The curves of his body become the blueprint for my chapel. I worship him in my imagination.  
As I got through scenarios, I note that I react best to thoughts of dominating my new found interest. I wonder if this is what I want from our relationship too? Do I want to be more confident? Am I comfortable with the idea of being that kind of a person? Am I ready to take up more space? Yes! I can see the universal type of Rick down on all fours, taking my giant alien technology penis replacement machine, like a real good boy. Fuck yes!

Firecrackers.

I lay breathless on the narrow bed. I bet he heard me, because my breathing got so intense towards the end. Let him hear. Hiding it never felt right to me, and I'm trying to discover who I am again. This is it isn't it?  
Well whatever it is, I choose him.


	20. Mind your step

We get to his house, and in my tired state, surrounded by darkness, the true beauty of the estate is not yet apparent to me. I can smell all the fresh flowers in the many vases we pass. I can hear, that our movement echoes in the building like it's the size of a church. The What I managed to register in a haze, is that he has an abundant taste, and that there are way too many doors in each corridor. Everything is full of small details to look at, and right now it is making it even harder to focus on where I am. I keep seeing interesting sculptures, or art on the walls, and forget to look at my feet. I fall over on the edge of a carpet, smack down on my face. The carpet softens the blow, and I manage to put out my hands, but I aim too heavily down, and now my jaw aches dully.  
To my pleasant surprise, my companion is right away crouching down besides me, and checking on me verbally. "We'll see once I get up… God I must just be too tired for walking," I excuse myself. "Me too," he answers, and slowly helps me get up. To my surprise I feel quite alright. "Didn't even chip a tooth," I muse more quietly to myself. As he hears this, his face morphs into a relieved smile, and he grabs me by the shoulder and pulls into his arms. They enclose me from both sides, and rub my back in circles. "Good, now we don't have to waste hours, getting you checked at the doctors. I'm not joking when I say I need rest just as much." While he speaks, the hands move up my spine to my hair, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck and kisses the super sensitive flesh. The adrenaline from the fall, is mixing with my growing arousal. I bare my neck for him, ready to be devoured. I instead look at him quizzically as he pulls away. He points a finger at me, and soon his finger finds the tip of my nose. His hand now covers my view of his mouth, but his eyes conveys his smug sneer as he says:" Perhaps you could fall asleep by masturbating a bit louder this time. I almost couldn't hear you previously." He winks, and his eyes squint, from what must be a full face smile, while burst of laughter are rumbling past his lips. I evade his gaze and look to his left, at a tiny porcelain elephant in the pot of a plant on a table, hiding in the previous weeks foliage gathered down at the roots of the China rose. My heart flutters like I was a small rodent. The contrast of the elephants white amongst the decay caught my eye. My thoughts are jumbled. I need sleep. I continue moving, and let him resume the lead: "Sleep."  
He is sympathetic and we move on. Now I mind my step, and we get to the correct door unharmed.


	21. What makes me

First thing in the morning, I think of Christi. I heard her sing in my dreams. She sounded restless. I fear the hotel has been left in utter chaos. Everyone I have known for these past years in Utopia, must have been affected. A person disappearing causes tension. Did they let my assistants have control of the hotel, or was it not suitable to Master's tastes yet? Last I spoke about his theoretical promotion, people weren't very confident with the idea. Was I selfish in leaving like this? Even though I was a slave, I had a duty to my bretherin... Did I?

I stride in my underwear to the writing desk. The air is a bit chilly. I heed my body no mind, I must ask Christi what has happened since I left. I hope she hasn't gotten in trouble because people know we get on well. Wouldn't put it past Master to be so paranoid, he has led someone to spy on employees. A fysical letter to her home will be safest. I must ask Anti-Rick to get it delivered to her home discreetly.

Dear Christi,  
I hope my letter finds you well.  
I have escaped, and am safe. I'll tell you more, once I know myself. I hope our friendship is as strong as I hope it is, and you can keep my new found happiness a secret. How has my leaving affected the hotel? Has anyone even told you I ran? Wouldn't put it past them to cover the whole thing up. I hope we can meet one day now that we don't have to adjust our mouths according to the ears present. I'll write my new address in the lid of the envelope.

Can you tell me tips on how to live in the free world? I dream of your singing.  
-The Morty of your heart

There is a knock on my door, as I'm rummaging all the small drawers of the desk, to find a damn envelope. It's a female voice saying she has my breakfast. I look down at myself, but choose to stay underdressed. They'll understand after a while. If I'm going to live here , I'm definitely not going to skirt around staff. "Come in!"  
When I see the front of the serving cart, I already know we're going to be friends.  
She pushes the door open with just enough force, that it stops moving as it is perfectly 25 degrees away from the wall. I watch mesmerised as her tall robust figure, carefully adjust the carts angle, and then pushes it towards the small table and a loveseat. She closes the door,and joggs to catch up to the cart. As she walks beside the freely moving cart, takes a rose from one of the flower vases in the room. Her quite casual but formal black jeans, paired with a button up shirt, is so modern looking after the cartoony apparel of utopia. She cuts the flowers stem to the appropriate length at a beautiful angle, and just as the cart is coming to a halt, places it in the breakfast set. How odd. Maybe they ran out of roses in the lower levels.

I must look like a fool, as I just stare at her serving food. Anti-Rick is one for theatrics then, if this is what he chooses to pay extra for. I'm sure she has some super prestigious degree from some unknown dimension, and charges extra. Is this what having money is like to people who aren't Ricks? Because anti-Rick is flamboyant, is everything around him going to be like that? Oh god I don't think I can live in a place like that, It'll get tiring very fast. I must befriend the staff before I suffocate .

She moves the cart away, and bows a bit towards me. "Good morning Morty. Sir Sanchez has asked me to wake you up now at the latest, and bring you breakfast. It's twelve o'clock. He said to tell you he has gone back to the hotel. Perhaps after you have eaten, we could discuss getting you some clothes and other supplies. We are instructed to answer all of your whims, so go nuts kiddo," she tells me and smiles kindly. She has freckles, and thought her hair is on a ponytail, her dreadlocks give her head a doll-like appearance. Not the most symmetrical of faces, but round and kind. She must be hitting her thirties, and there are already laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. Yes, I will like her.  
"Could I have some local newspaper, and this letter needs to be posted. I can't find envelopes though, so I'll just write down the address, please wait a moment, " I tell her noticing that it is easier to approach her more like I would a colleague. Her smile broadens, and I turn back to the desk, ripping a piece from a notepad. I scribble down Christie's address, while she answers:"I'll bring you an assortment of different papers. Anything else?" I walk to her, before she can react, and hand her the scribble with the letter. "Write this address in the lid of the envelope. Thank you…?"  
She puts my post on the cart, and shakes my hand:" Taffy."  
"Nice to meet you. I hope I can meet the rest of the staff soon."  
She looks a bit taken back but recovers fast:" I'll see what can be arranged."  
"If it's not too much to ask, I think just joining a few of your staff lunches is enough for me if you have those. No need to make it into a thing. I think I have enough time to meet everyone eventually."  
"I'll ask. Have a pleasant breakfast."

As fast as she came, she is gone. I give one glance at the food, but decide my angry bladder takes top spot. As I stare at the expensive ceramics of the wall, I prod my emotions.  
I somehow feel better after talking to her. Maybe I just needed someone to relate to, to soften the blow. I feel like I'm more equipped now to explore my new surroundings. My eyes focus back on the ornate tile on the wall. It must be hand painted. She made me more equipped to deal with the sudden change from staff to getting served. I feel confident I'll be able to hold onto what makes me.

As I wash my hands, I look into my own eyes through the mirror. I'm a good person. I only want good to come to others. I will be kind, and I will have compassion. Money won't change me. Stop being so silly Morty.


End file.
